Oh Cave Boy- The Places you Go.

(by Stacie)
My son stood up in the bath tub the other night peeing and smiling with glee.
I thought he'd shed a tear of joy,  he was so damn happy with himself.

"MOMMY!!! I peed!  Mommy! I Peed! I peed!" he was filled with pride.

Okay, so peeing standing up is an accomplishment?
Okay. Not so sure how to react.
Would a new age advisor tell me to praise him so his self esteem isn't connected to his penis?
Or vice- versa?

This may have been the first prideful moment of his two- year old life.
As for myself, I haven't found the words for the kind of moment it was, aside from, well, disappointing in a funny way.
Also, relieved it wasn't poop, since he does have a history of  pooping in all parts of his world.
Let me tell you, shit in the tub is no picnic.
 It doesn't float, if you know what I mean.

Having a boy has been an eye opening experience in truly seeing the differences between males and females.
 I thought I knew a whole lot before I had him.
Truly, existing with a "boy''s" mind can be so simple, it's mind blowing.

His new favorite toy is a turkey baster which he insists on taking with him to school .
It was actually my mom's from the 70's, with a yellow top and lots of scratches on the plastic part.
It has spurted lots of juice and basted a lot of turkeys.

He nonchalantly walked into his pre-school class with it in hand.
The teachers just looked at me with that "okaaaay" look when he came in, holding it like it was normal.
He looked at them like "What the fuck are you staring at?" " This happens to be my favorite toy."

As the day progressed it became a rocket and a megaphone all in the same hour.
Not as simple as I thought.

When I pick him up from school I always ask the same question. " How was school?"
No answer. He just walks steadily to the car in his black, fake, suede vans.
"Milk mommy?"
When we get into the car.  I make another attempt,"Did you have fun at school today?"
He grunts, drinking his milk, and looks out the window.
Hm, I think to myself, is he ever going to tell me about school?
Probably not.
I couldn't get my daughter to stop talking after school.
Amazing.

We go to the park most afternoons.
He is usually holding a stick and making grunting noises or just violently slamming it against something, anything.
 He also likes to bolt like a horse.
One minute, I'll be enjoying the moment, the next , I'll be in a panic looking for him, thinking to myself, I'm never fucking taking him to the park again! (yeah, like that's not an empty threat.)

I kept hearing boisterous honking, over and over again, "HONK, HONK, HONK..."
(I thought to myself, give it a rest asshole.)

Seconds later..............
I turned my head and there he was, my son, standing in the middle of the street with two cars stopped in front of him, honking loudly, wondering, where is this kids dumb shit for a mother?

Oh there I was, running frantically to retrieve him.
I will never forget holding him in my arms and just breaking down, as I ran back to the park.

Literally, I cried out loud like I was alone, in front of everyone.
I have never made such an emotional scene in public.
Not even in my drunken hoe bag days.

I looked around at the moms and they all had so much love in their eyes.
They understood why I freaked out.
There were no words exchanged.
It was such a close call, I think they were stunned too.

We all stood there next to the green and blue monkey bars, watching
our little boys, un- phased, running around with sticks, grunting.

They knew the love I felt.
It was their love too.

They all love their  peeing, pooping, stick and rock throwing little cave boys as much as I do.

Suckers for Soccer

Emma started soccer last month.
She said she wanted to play and my husband was thrilled.
I was suspicious from the beginning, thinking she just wanted to wear the uniform. But I hoped it was just the judgmental voice in my head that is out to ruin shit, so I carried on and encouraged.

The first practice was so new and exciting and fun. Emma could not wait to go. She LOVED her new uniform, especially the number 11 on her back. Her dad took her to get the entire garb. She started wearing it around the house, shin guards and all.

We arrived at the field at 6pm, my two year old in tow.
He was more excited than Emma, acres and acres of grass, hundreds of sticks and dirt everywhere.

I forgot a blanket, so we sat on the itchy grass and got up and down, up and down, up and down.
Emma played, or kicked a soccer ball, and ran back and forth with other 4 year old mental patients. I don't think you really call it playing.

My son was like her shadow, running behind her and the line of kids, everywhere they went. The coach was nice about Jaxson pretending to be on the team, but it was only the first practice.
Little did he know, he would later run into a real game and almost tear down the netted goalie.

The first practice, the second practice, all went well. Fun for both kids.
Mostly sweaty and stressful for me, aside from interrupted conversation with a few moms I like, it was a long hour.
Probably because Jaxson thought he was part of various teams, when in fact, it wasn't even soccer practice for him.

So the big game was coming soon. Conveniently, my husband had to be out of town. We were both disappointed for very different reasons.

I still, to this day cannot tell you who won Emma's game.

She cried the second her feet hit the field. She wanted me to come with her everywhere. I tried to explain to her that that was just not possible.
Emma being Emma would not accept that reality. She dramatically tried to drag me out on the field with her team. "Mommy, I want you to come with me.....come with me, pleeeeeaaaaasssse come with me!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Then I would say something rational, none of which penetrated.
I mean come on, why would it?

Then she had to pee, and Jaxson decided to take a big dump two minutes before the game started.
So, I had her crying to pee, and him needing to be changed, and no husband, and I have had to pee for an hour. What's gonna happen if I pee my pants?

It got worse. After the bathroom escapade sucked up about 10 minutes, we missed the beginning of the game and Emma barley played.
Emma was still crying, now blaming the team for being mean.
I threw out some More fake, calm, rational words of which she didn't listen to. Inside, I was just looking forward to bedtime.

Jaxson was running into the game while they were playing, and at one point he was running in circles inside of the goalie, about to tackle the net, so I grabbed him out, while Emma was hanging on one arm.
Meanwhile, the 20 ounces of milk in my bag spilled, so my phone, my keys and my wallet were swimming in a sea of milk. I had no way to clean it up, so I just used my shirt.

Now I smelled like shit, dirt, milk, and probably pee.

Emma was STILL crying.
Naturally, Jaxson started crying because he wanted milk.
I was on the verge myself, but had to politely tell the coach and his wife good bye.
"Thanks for everything!" I lied.

The game was over.
I had no idea who won.
Dare I ask?
Deep down, I could give two shits.
(Oh, and my husband will ask,"who won?"
My Response will be " I DON'T KNOW.)

We had to park like a mile away, so the walk to the car is longer than the game was.
The smell of hot spoiled milk, sun on asphalt, tears, sweaty faces and dirty hair.

"Emma," I said, " You don't have to play if you don't want to. It's okay if you don't like soccer."

She looked at me and sobbed, hair stuck to her face," I like the uniform mommy."

mortified to moved

To say that parenting has humbled me, is an under statement. It’s good to be humbled in life.
Being humbled is no novelty for me anymore; it's really a state of mind.
More than half the time, I have NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING.

I used to say," I was humbled today"- like it was a good experience, or a much needed wake up call.

Now, I am a little sick and tired of being humbled.
Do you find yourself trying to be polite asking to change a shitty diaper? Attempting to leave gracefully after your child has had a tremendous blow out? Or has thrown up all over someone's couch? Or, has said Fuck in front of everyone?

Must it always be a reflection of us? (Emma said, "What the fuck" yesterday)
Hmm, that's what I say.

I feel like parenting is a true spiritual teacher, not to sound new age, but really, who else can make you show your ass like a toddler can.
I pray more.

My mantra used to be-" I am calm and in control". I’m 38 and she’s 3. If that's not humbling, shit, I don't know what is.
My daughter has broken me down. I had to have a mantra to make it through the day. Now she's in school.
My mantra is now used for my 2 year old, that poor second kid, always getting the leftovers.

In Atlanta, we had perfect weather yesterday. It was a gorgeous fall day. I couldn't let my kids stay inside. We walked to the park. It’s 3 blocks away and it only takes us a half an hour.

The park was filled with kids.
Running, screaming, jumping.... all different colors, shapes and sizes. Babies cooing in swings, toddlers sliding, boys galloping with sticks, girls on the see saw.
It was a sea of color, noise, beauty and insanity.

We live in a diverse neighborhood and go to a diverse school. Simply, we live in
Atlanta and I don’t think my four-year sees color, or nationality.

Jaxson, Emma, and a group of screaming kids came barreling down the slide. Jaxson got stuck under some kid’s legs and he was crying loud, I mean loud.

EVERYONE stopped to look. I grabbed him.
He was fine. It just scared him.


Emma starts yelling, “THOSE BLACK PEOPLE, They hurt Jaxson on the slide.
I try to give her “that look” to stop her from saying anything more- Then again, “Mommy, THOSE BLACK PEOPLE……”

“ Emma, Emma”, I try to stop her mid sentence again.

Not again, please! God help me.
I am calm and in control.

“MOMMA I’M trying to tell you, THOSE BLACK PEOPLE!!!!”

Can I run? Can I crawl under the slide and leave her? Pretend she’s not mine?

I was mortified.

Meanwhile, a calm, sweet black girl was standing beside me the entire time.

I had to confront this in front of everyone… what choice did I have?

“Emma, “ I said, “there are people with white skin and black skin and brown skin, we don’t say that out loud, it can hurt someone’s feelings and it’s rude.”
Oh brilliant! I thought to myself, well that sucked.
Another book I’ll have to buy.

Then, to my surprise the sweet girl beside me said, “ Emma, can I tell you a secret?”
“Can you hold my drink for me?”
Emma looked at her sheepishly, ”okay,” she said.
The girl whispered in her ear that she was black and that Emma was white and only the inside of people matters and that black people get upset when you say that….” Trust me.” She said with confidence.
Emma said, “Okay.”

I was speechless.
I said ”Thank you, how old are you?”
She said “Ten.”
“Thank you”, I said again.

I had a huge lump burning in my throat.
I heard it in my mind again,”Ten.”
Tears streamed down my face.
I slowly walked back to the park bench.
What a day.
Well, at least I remembered my sunglasses.

I'm 2 too.

My two- year old son started pre-school today.
A few days ago, in anticipation of this day, I felt sad.

Well, not sad, I'd say sentimental.

This morning, after throwing a match box car at his sister, smearing his banana all over the dining room floor while laughing, and screaming out the window, standing on a dangerous step stool ladder; I was no longer feeling sentimental.

Then it was on with his back pack filled with diapers, thinking woo hoo! One less shitty diaper for me to change today.
BTW, this is not a new back pack, (first sign of second child syndrome). It was his sister's back pack. So, naturally, I took a big sharpie and crossed out her name and replaced it with his name- real classy.
Way to make the first day of school special.
I would have actually cared what the teachers thought when I started emma in preschool. But at this point, I could give a flying fuck.
I think with the second, all bets are off, and I can't imagine what would happen with the third. I Hope I don't find out.

After running after him throughout the house trying to get his shoes and socks on, convincing him we were NOT playing hide and seek, we were almost ready to go.
I also did try to take a picture for his first day, but he ran around the living room yelling NO!NO Pictooore! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
See why I'm so sentimental?

What a crock of shit.
Should I really make him take the picture? No, I'll just take the damn picture of the real moment- Here's my obstinent two year old's first day of school....... Click click.
And no, I'm not posting it in FB with a cute caption about how sad I am.

Now I'll Cut to, the pre-school open house last week. I went to meet the teachers. It was an open house of sorts where you and your child hang out in the class room, pretending like life is grand. You are also asked to fill out a meaningless questionnare, with questions like, "how will we know if your child is upset?" and, "what are your child's favorite foods?"
My answers were: he will scream, cry, or throw a tantrum. He likes milk and mostly throws all his FOOD on the floor.
Oh, and don't worry, I left out the part about how he loves to remove his diaper and then walks around with shit on his hands, and sometimes smears it on a wall.

There were many polite introductions with screaming two year olds who were not sharing trucks and blocks. Everyone was smiling, while trying to manage their small animals/2 year-olds. "Come on sweetie, share with your new friend." Underneath that smile was a tired, worn down mom like myself... excited to be leaving my child with another sorry sac for three hours a day, three days a week.

There is always that chipper mom who "LOVES this age", that I just can't relate to.
Oh, and yes, she was at the open house.
Her son was a genius, not that she said that, but you could just tell by the way he played with his blocks.
"He knows 24 signs!" she said gleefully.
Wow, I thought, 24!I guess you have time to count them.
Don't judge Stacie, don't judge I thought to myself.
Then she said, "He also doesn't really get that upset, he will point or sign for what he needs!" She told the teacher.
Spare me, I thought, he's two years old.... If a two year points at anything, isn't he screaming at the same time?

Okay, my higher self vanished after that comment.

Must be nice, I thought, I guess he's also potty trained and he can fucking read?

"He also speaks two languages," she said.

Last straw.

Wait a second, did she really just say that out loud?
EYE ROLL, and I don't care if she saw me, I live with a 2 year old.
I too have regressed.
I am 2 now too.

Okay, so my two- year old is starting pre-school.